Dark Promises
by Anubis
Summary: An artist loses his soul to his lover, only to have her leave him. Centuries later, he has moved to the US, and is still searching for her. But what he does find, isn't her at all...
1. Prologue

Dark Promises ****

Dark Promises

By Anubis

****

Prologue

An artist was tending to business in his parlor, sketching his latest model. A fire was lit, giving light to the otherwise dark room, casting shadows in the deepest corners. The lacy curtains were pulled to, sheltering the two beings from the noisy night. Outside, horse drawn carriages pass by the window, the heavy steps echoing off the cobblestone path. Merchants called out to each other and the crowd, beckoning the last customers of the day. But the two people were oblivious to the noise, the excitement of the busy city night. The female, Melanka, posed on the couch, her hand resting carefully on her lap. She was on her back, but her face was twisted to stare back, almost defiantly, at the artist. A demur look was harbored on her fair face, seemingly unemotional. Obsidian eyes were positioned under her dark black eyebrows, plucked into a delicate swoop. She had a sharp chin, softened only by the cleft in it. High cheekbones gave her an almost regal air, and were helped by a small, straight Roman nose. Dark, blood red lips were positioned in a pout, serving for false innocence. A dark black gown covered her; its low neck hiding her white, partially exposed breasts. The dress belled out from her waist to shelter her feet and flow like inky water to the oriental carpeted floor.

She watched the artist with false curiosity, paying rapt attention to the movement of his hands. She only looked away to glance at his face, to watch him study her body, and all of the curves and contours it had. He was a very handsome young man, only twenty-one, and attracted much attention from the ladies. He had gentle green eyes with flecks of gold and blue around the edges. He also had angular features, though they were not as prominent as hers were. A shock of white blonde hair came down to his shoulders. He had pulled it down from its loose ponytail at the base of his neck. The white blonde hair made him seem darker than he really was. He was darkly tanned, despite the bleak sun that was usually shadowed by clouds. Even if he lived in Paris, France, the city of romance, that didn't necessarily mean that all the days were perfect and sunny. He was usually inside, also, working on his paintings. Melanka moved ever so slightly, moving so that she didn't develop a crick in her neck. 

"Almost done," he muttered, emerald green eyes moving back and forth from her face to the paper. She smiled slightly, letting him know that she didn't mind too much. He sighed, adding the last details to the paper, then smiled at her quiet form. She smiled back and pulled herself up to a sitting position. He stood up, raising his hands towards the ceiling in a stretch. She admired his toned body, seeing the muscles bulge ever so slightly from his dress shirt. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip seductively, but the artist did not notice, for his back was to her. She heard the harsh sounds of ice being moved about, and she heard the pop as he pulled the cork from a bottle. But, unlike normal humans, she could also hear every breath he took, as well as the gentle beat of his heart. There was a beat every one and a third second. It nearly drove her mad to hear the flow of blood through his veins, and only her iron self control kept her from lunging at him.

She turned her attention from his heartbeat upon hearing the clink of glass upon glass. She smiled when he turned around and handed her a crystal clear wineglass. The wide mouth of the glass beckoned for the liquid, and her long rounded nails grasped the thin stem in the proper hold. She held it out to him, and watched the purple red liquid slowly fill the glass. He filled it halfway, poured a glass for him as well. She smiled and swirled it around the glass, watching the liquid spin. She held the glass to the light of the fireplace, and licked her lips when it glowed crimson, leaving a shadow of red on her black gown. He sat beside her on the sofa, and they clinked their glasses together in a toast.

"To you, my dear, and the profits that will most certainly come from the painting," he said, his voice slightly husky. She smiled and nodded, and took a small sip of the liquid. It filled her mouth with it's acidic sweetness, the rich flavor making her a little light headed. She smiled again, and brought the glass close to his. 

"A toast, to us. May great things happen to our lives," she whispered. He took another sip of his wine, but she placed the glass onto the low wooden table. She leaned close, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. She placed her lips softly on his lips, gentle, teasing. He responded readily, opening his mouth against her probing. His tongue entered her warm cavern, discovering the dark depths, hidden from the light. Her hands circled his neck, and she turned slightly so that his kisses could trail down her neck. She smiled, enjoying the feeling of his mouth on her neck. She pulled away for a moment, glancing at his heated face. His skin was hot to the touch, and his eyes were cloudy with passion. She moved his face back to hers and kissed him again on the lips. She took control of the situation, and lowered her face so she could kiss his neck. Quick shivers of pleasure ran up his spine, making her hot mouth all the more unbearable. She kissed his jaw line; her tongue traced the sharp line slowly, leaving a trail of saliva in its wake. She lowered her head slowly, kissing his Adam's apple gently. 

She could feel the pounding of his heart under her lips; it's quickened movement lighting her afire. She moved quickly to the spot on his neck where his heart beat was most strong, and pulled back her lips, licking the spot. He gasped softly when he felt her canine's enter his skin, the stinging quickly replaced with a dulling affect. He lost consciousness when her mind whispered a command in his brain.** _Sleep_**… 

Authors Note: So do, you like it? I know that I haven't put Amelia's characters in the story yet, but I will. Soon I hope, but it all depends on what my muse bunny wants. 

So please know this: I do not own any of Amelia Atwater-Rhodes characters. Nope, don't own Risika, Aubrey, Fala, Jager, Jessica, or anyone else. Just these two nut cases mentioned before! =P Also, please review the story. I loooooooooove feed back! Okay, bye-bye now! 


	2. The Beginning of death

Dark Promises ****

Dark Promises

Chapter One

The artist lay on his back, his head resting on a pillow while he slept on the couch. The curtains were still drawn, dispersing some of the late morning light. His face was pale, pigment disappearing as death stilled the blood that was left in his face. His breath had stopped completely and his heart was still. He showed all signs of death, but the restless tossing and turning begged to differ. A darkly clad figure stood in the corner of the room, watching his death slumber with indifference. She was still dressed in the gown she had worn the night before, but it was smoothed back to the perfection it was in before the heated moments they had shared. She moved silently to sit in the overstuffed chair that was across from the man's moaning body. She knew that he would be very weak when he woke up, and would need to feed soon. She had already gone out herself the night before, knowing he wouldn't wake up until later. She still held the vials of blood she had collected in her purse. She smiled upon remembering the fear so evident in her prey's face. The girl's eyes had widened in terror, and her lips had opened to form a silent scream as Melanka's fangs had shown in the bright moonlight.

She was brought back to this moment by his frantic moaning and thrashing. She walked closer and caught his fist in an iron hold, so that he wouldn't hurt her or himself. His face was screwed up in pain, and his eyelids fluttered slightly. She smiled in affection. Even in death he was beautiful. 

She had found him by a local gallery. His work was being displayed at the far end of the low budget exhibit, and was wonderful. He had brought life to his paintings, making the wind seem to blow the long rows of wheat and the sun would shine warmly over the land. Even better were his still life's, where fruit glistened in the candlelight, the shadows alluding mystery. She approached him one day, requesting a still life of herself. It took some persuading and a pretty sum, but he finally agreed to it. He confessed he had never done a painting of a woman, so he cautioned her of the outcome. He wasn't sure that it would be up to her high standards, but she reassured him that that the outcome would be glorious. She still remembered the uncertainty he had shown on the first day, but as time went by, he grew confident in his abilities. _Such a sweet, innocent young man,_ she thought ironically. His moaning quieted, and his restless movements ceased. She moved closer to him, her hands resting his still hands on his chest. She bent down and stared at him, watching as slowly he opened his eyes. His beautiful green eyes were no more. Black, heartless orbs stared back at her, much like her own.

"Welcome back, Michel," she whispered. His eyes focused on her face, and a small smile grew like a flower on his lips. He sat up slowly, but put his hand to his head when he sat up straight, as if he had a horrible headache. He seemed to finally notice his chest had ceased moving, and fear crossed his pale face. He tried desperately to suck in a breath, and Melanka smiled at the habitual movement. Tears filled his eyes as a great stinging filled his lungs. His body trembled with the force of his pain, and he tried to clear it away with coughing. But it only worsened the pain, and he cried out from the agony. _Men never were good at handling pain_, Melanka thought. A frown creased her brow, and she put one white hand on his head. He stopped struggling against fate, and turned angry eyes upon her face. 

"You! You did this to me!" he growled. She only stood up and smirked at him.

"And what have I done to you?" she asked coolly. His scowl widened, as he couldn't explain the phenomenon. Why _was_ he alive, even though his heart was not beating? Even though it hurt to breathe? She cackled loudly, and placed her face close to his.

"You are now part of my kind, part of my family. You are a vampire. Immortality is yours," she whispered. Michel just stared at her, his face emotionless. But his head was full of thoughts. He denied her answer with passion, searching for any rational way to explain it. His eyes grew unfocused as he continued to ponder his situation, unaware of anything outside his head. Melanka saw her chance, and moved quickly and pulled out one of the vials of blood. She grasped his head in an iron hold and tilted him back so that it would be easy to force feed him the crimson liquid. He sputtered, choking on the liquid. Some of the coppery tasting liquid escaped his mouth and ran down his face, but he had to swallow the rest, or drown in it. Melanka pulled back quickly, just barely avoiding Michel's swinging fists. Even though he was extremely weak, his punches would have hurt. She sat up straight and packed the vials in her purse once more. Michel sat on the couch, choking on the red fluid. But his body seemed to have a mind of it's own. It licked the liquid from his pale lips, and swallowed it greedily. He lay back on the couch, sick at the thought that he just drank something's blood, and it was being digested in his stomach right now.

Or was it? Since his heart stopped beating, did his other natural processes cease to work also? He closed his eyes, sick to his stomach at the thought that he was a living corpse, which had yet to rot. Melanka put her cool hands on his forehead, almost comforting him. He opened his eyes and clung to her, like a baby would its mother. But wasn't it so? Wasn't this immortal woman his mother now? She made his living possible. She created life in his unbeating heart. He laughed suddenly, great booming chuckles. His body shook with the force, making his muscles tighten. He was hysterical, but he didn't care at the moment. He was alive, and could live forever. His laughter dissolved into wracking sobs, and Melanka rocked him to the beat that his heart used to beat.

So, do you like it? I tried my best for you people! I'm glad the prologue got such good reviews, and I hope the first chapter can live up to it. Okay, I'll stop rambling, and let you review, which you were planning on doing, right? 


	3. Athens, Georgia 2001

Dark Promises ****

Dark Promises

By: Anubis

August 27th, 2001

It was a hot, humid day in Athens, Georgia. The air was thick and sticky, and dark gray clouds threatened to create a flood, drowning all the people that moved like ants along the busy street. '_It doesn't rain in Georgia, it pours_.' Camille remembered her friend, Tiffany, repeating this to her over and over when she was packing. She and her family had just moved to Athens from Kansas a day ago. Her father had been offered another job at Compaq, and he had uprooted the entire family and moved them down into the old-fashioned state. When she was alone in her room in Kansas, she had pictured horse-drawn carts and beautiful Victorian houses lining a cobblestone path instead of the busy, bustling city that lay before her. She snapped out of her glum reverie at the insistent honking behind her. The light had changed, and she hadn't moved. She pushed quickly on the accelerator, and the car leaped ahead, nearly crashing into the bumper of the car in front of her. She pushed down hard on the brake, and narrowly missed rear-ending the white Toyota. She took a deep breath, and pushed gently on the old Camero's accelerator, and to her relief, it didn't jolt forward. She moved along slowly, cars whizzing past her. A man passed her, and gave her the finger out the window. '_So much for southern hospitality!'_ She thought. She turned quickly, and finally was able to race into the grocery parking lot. Traffic was terrible out here, and the overbearing weather wasn't helping at all. Grumpy and nervous, Camille made her way to the wide glass doors. Cold air spilled out of the marketplace, and gave some small relief to her sweaty body. She moved along the aisles, picking up cereal and bread. Her mother had sent her on this errand, tired of hearing her whine about how horrible this place was. Camille didn't mean to be a pain, she was just upset over losing her friends and leaving behind her boyfriend. She had made all of them promise not to forget her, and she and Mike, her boyfriend, had made a vow to call each other every week. 

A loud thundering echoed through the large building, and she could hear the rain beginning to pelt the roof. '_Great…_' She moved quickly down the bright aisles, trying to grab the things on the list quickly before the storm got too bad. She sighed in relief when all of the things were in her basket, and grinned when she couldn't hear the rain anymore. She walked to the checkout line, and stood behind a middle-aged woman. Her buggy was full, and it took forever for her to unload it. When the woman was finished, Camille was in such a bad mood she nearly screamed in frustration when she had to get a price check on the popcorn. The rain increased steadily as each package went by the scanner, and when she had finally paid the boy that packed all her bags, it was coming down hard. The drops of rain hit like miniature bombs on the roofs of the cars, and the entire parking lot was under one centimeter of water. She growled angrily, and sat down on the wooden bench outside the grocery. She sat the two bags down at her feet, and watched the rain pour absently. After 15 minutes, the rain hadn't let up at all. She scowled and cursed at the shower, and stood up defiantly. She picked out the bags, and braced herself to run across the rainy street. She took a deep breath and ran quickly across, and was almost to her car when she bumped into someone. All her grocery's fell to the ground, and she stared blankly as the rain softened the brown paper bags. She bent to pick them up, and knocked heads with the person that bumped into her. The girl looked to be her age, if not a few years older, and had a rich strawberry blonde hair. Camille realized suddenly that the girl was talking, and pulled herself out of her shocked state enough to hear the girl's words. 

"…I'm so sorry! I didn't see you. I was tryin' to get out of the rain, and wasn't watchin' where I was goin'…" The girl smiled. Camille registered the soft southern accent, and smiled back in return. 

"It's alright. I wasn't watching where I was going either," Camille answered. She picked the two bags up, and clung to their slippery surface.

"I'm Ashley. Nice to meet you," the girl said, holding out her hand. Camille shook it quickly and grinned. 

"Camille. Nice to meet you too." She smiled at the girl, and shifted from one foot to the other. 

Ashley started to turn away and yelled over her shoulder,

"I'll see you around, okay?"

She waved, and moved quickly to the store, running through the lightening rain. Camille walked to her car, and popped the trunk. She laid the bags in the back, and walked to the driver seat. She got inside and smiled. '_It's only the second day here, and I think I already made a friend,_' she thought happily.


	4. Eternal Dreams Shattered by Mortal Reali...

Dark Promises ****

Dark Promises

By: Anubis

August 15th, 1893

Michel stood before his easel, putting the final touches on the painting. He stood back, and studied it, liking what he saw. '_We'll, its hard not to like it,_' he thought, smiling. Melanka's portrait had turned out better than he had hoped. In the painting, she sat on his couch, looking out at Michel defiantly. Her black dress made her look so exotic. Much too exotic for his parlor as a background. So, instead of the French comfort she was originally sketched in, she lay in an ancient Egyptian court, servants attending to her every whim. The royal guests lay on similar couches in the background. They were painted in soft pastels, so as not to attract much attention from their host. Dancing girls stood motionless to the left of Melanka, frozen forever in their cultural dance. It was his masterpiece. He grinned, and walked slowly down the steps from his studio to his bedroom. It was two in the morning, and Melanka was gone to feast. He collapsed face first on the bed, his feet hanging off the edges, and almost immediately fell asleep. He had worked on the painting almost day and night for the past month, with only brief intervals to feed and sleep. And to make Melanka happy, he sometimes went with her to the park at night. He was exhausted now, and just wanted to sleep.

It was hours later he finally woke. The sun was shining brightly through his big picture window, and it blinded him for a moment. He raised his arm to shield his sore eyes, and climbed sorely from his awkward position across the bed. He moved sleepily down the hall, and walked into the kitchen. He searched the counters for the vials Melanka usually left for him. He frowned when he didn't find them, and moved to the living room. 

Shadows disfigured and mutilated his once familiar furniture. Ashes lay in a soft blanket on his hearth. The remnants of the burned wood scattered and fluttered in the slightest breeze. Dust lay in a thick lining on the brass mantel clock, while it ticked away the hours, minutes, seconds, all being lost in the sands of time. Michel turned towards the window, and pulled the curtain back, allowing some of the weak sunshine to leak through and give some color back to his shadowed parlor, chasing the invisible demons from their positions in the corners and crevices of the room. Michel looked out into the street, watching the merchants, the common people, and the beggars mix together in a social harmony that they were imposed on everyday. The bleak picture of human life was so alarming, and in some erotic way, inviting. The uniformity of it all was a utopia for those weary of surprises, those weary of new stages of development that was being forced upon the ever-changing world. And yet, it was tedious, these daily activities performed by everyday actors, caught in some melodramatic drama where no other reality, no other existence could correspond with these all powerful beings, who were gone with the turning of the tides. 

They ruled the world, these minute individuals, they kept this mundane drama forever playing itself out. And yet, there were the others, the eternal beings that fed off the life force of those that continued this infinite performance. They were there, watching from the shadows, waiting for one that would fall, the weak link, and take them from this life to the next. But there was a flaw in these beings presence; they were trapped between realities, stuck in this mortal world as if they were nothing more than solid ghosts whom were never shown the way to the final destination. No, time had no mercy on them, they had to destroy those creatures that they once were, hunt down humans like prey just so that they could live to see another sunrise.

And with this mortal world were the social airs he had to once put on to earn the respect and money of his "equals". He had nearly forgotten the proper way to greet a lady of high breeding, the dances and the balls that everyone who was anyone attended. These were such things the less fortunate dreamed of, but they were stuck at the foot of the social ladder. And was it not the fault of those that were well to do that these unlucky beings were as poor as they were? Wasn't it those well to do that judged how much and how little these underlings received in their paycheck? And yet, they did not take the blame. No, they blamed it on those that can control nothing of the affairs of those who give them money for the essential things that kept them living. It was the unfairness of this ephemeral life that kept them at the lower end of the food chain. 

And here, at the heart of the city of romance, in the gayest and most light-hearted town in France, Michel was locked away, confined in this prison of eternity between heaven and hell. And he, too great a coward to take away this cursed life, sat alone in the misery of forever, they countless millennia going by, gone from his grasp forever. He was the embodiment of time, forever and ever belonging to everything and nothing.

A great weight had settled over him; the knowledge of death, the knowledge of partaking of your fellow man as if her were a wine to drink and savor. It was too much for a one being to comprehend, and so he sat, unthinking, watching listlessly as the evanescent world of humanity changed and grew before him. He drew back finally from the portal to this semi-perfect world of those being sacrificed and those willing to sacrifice for 'the greater good'. The curtain fell back in place, blocking the light from showing the way across his living room. He moved heavily, his shoulders slumped and his face sobered. Climbing the steps to his studio, Michel opened the doors and inhaled deeply the smell of wood, paint, and the ever-present smell of the vitality he used to make his works of art. He prowled around the room, glancing blindly at all the tarps and splatters of paint that seemed to coat the floor and the off white walls. Something was missing; it was like an empty feeling when your loved one leaves you; that feeling of loss when you can't decide to sit and cry, or drink you troubles away. He prowled around the room like a caged tiger, wishing for that distant paradise where he could hunt and live without the worries of those who would discourage him from his far-fetched schemes. 

That was when the fluttering paper caught his eye; a note had been tacked to one of the walls, and was fluttering helplessly buy the quick movements Michel was making. Melanka's signature was on the front, and a dark feeling was creeping in to his gut. He tore the note down off the wall, and scanned over it quickly, before reading it more slowly, anger filling his body:
    
    Dear Michel,
    I have grown tired of this game you forever play wit me. You swear your love to me one day, and than lock yourself away in the horrid studio, painting and painting a worthless picture! You claim it will be the thing that will have everyone talking of you, but I can't believe that. I need more that empty vows and broken promises! You are a fool; did you truly think I would stay by your side forever, when you treat me as nothing more than a doting servant? Never! I will not allow you to make a fool of me! There are plenty of men who would become my slave, as you once were…yes, my slave! You did everything for me! And I shall have that attention again, whether it be from you or someone else! I deserve better!
    Melanka
    P.S. I have taken your "master piece", and I shall laugh and hang it above my mantle while you sit alone, a broken man, in the eternal arms of your reticent artistic mind!
    
    Michel tore the hate filled note, and glared as the white pieces fluttered lifelessly to the ground. He moved out of the workroom with the ethereal grace he had inherited with his dark existence. And slammed the door to his apartment. One thought was apparent in his malice filled thoughts; **_Revenge…_**


End file.
